


Close Encounters of the Subway Kind

by elliex



Series: Destiel Smut Brigade "Missed Connections" Fic Dump [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean & Cas mope, M/M, Missed Connections, More fluffy than smutty I fear, Sam & Gabe are good brothers, Subway, personal ad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:42:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliex/pseuds/elliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter on a subway platform will change Dean Winchester's life forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Encounters of the Subway Kind

**MARCH 25, 2015**

> ====================
> 
>             **PERSONALS**
> 
> **====================**
> 
> **SEEKING CAS**
> 
>  Are you the blue-eyed angel
> 
>  I met on the A train March 7th?
> 
>  You were going to the Cloisters;
> 
>  I was lost.
> 
>  Will look for reply Fri.
> 
> \--------------------------
> 
>   **Seeking RP partner.**
> 
>  Must be willing to wear plaid &
> 
>  have long hair. Serious inquiries
> 
>  only. Becky88@email.com
> 
> ====================
> 
> ****
> 
>  

 

**MARCH 27, 2015**

> ====================
> 
>             **PERSONALS**
> 
> ====================
> 
> **FROM CAS TO DEAN:  
>  **
> 
> Seek & Ye Shall Find.
> 
> Meet me Sat (3.28) at noon
> 
> at Cool Beans Cafe
> 
> in Queens
> 
> \--------------------------
> 
>   **WANTED:**
> 
> Role-playing partner in plaid w/
> 
> long hair. Chuck need not apply!
> 
> Becky88@email.com
> 
> ====================

 

\+ + + +

**Saturday, March 7th**

Dean watched the people milling about the subway platform with detached interest. A violinist played in the corner, smiling when coins and bills were dropped into her open case. A couple of teenagers were looking at each other’s cell phones and giggling. A guy with mussed dark hair, wearing tight blue jeans and a leather jacket, was leaning nonchalantly against a nearby support beam reading a tattered copy of – Dean squinted. What was that? Oh, _Slaughterhouse Five_. Of course.

 

He sighed. _Unfairly hot_ and _has good taste in books_.

 

Dean paced along the platform’s edge, tapping his fingers on his thigh in time with the violinist’s music. He really hated the subway – hated knowing that he was underground, about to step foot inside a metal can and course along at high speeds _underground_ , and all while squeezed in among strangers _underground_. Yet here he was.

 

He continued to pace, choosing to watch the hot guy as a distraction. The man was still reading, seemingly oblivious to the increasing chaos around him. Dean got a little lost in admiring the man’s long, lean lines and didn’t notice the kid on a skateboard, barreling his way through the crowd. He heard someone yell “Shit,” right as something hard and sharp-edged connected with his left ankle.

 

Unfortunately, Dean was mid-step, right foot in the air, left foot un-cautiously close to the platform’s edge. The impact left him teetering and, as Dean flailed, realizing he couldn't catch his balance, that he was going to fall, that he might _die_ on this damned platform….

 

He was yanked backwards and landed, ass first, on the concrete with a hard thud.

 

“Are you okay?,” asked a gravelly voice that sent shivers up Dean’s spine. He knew, even before looking up, who _that voice_ belonged to.

 

Piercing blue eyes watched him closely, an eyebrow quirked in a lingering question.

 

Dean shook his head to clear it. “Yeah. Think so.”

 

“Good,” the man said, offering a reassuring smile. He grabbed the offending skateboard and carried it over to the kid, who was nursing a twisted ankle.

 

“What happened?,” the man barked. _Should that sound as hot as it does_? Dean wondered.

 

The kid visibly gulped. “Divet. In the concrete. I didn’t see….” He looked at Dean. “I’m really sorry, mister.”

 

“Don’t ride this thing down here again. Understand?” Blue eyes glared until the kid answered.

 

“Uh, yeah,” the kid nodded. “Are you going to call security?”

 

The man looked over at Dean and raised that sexy-as-hell eyebrow again. It took Dean a second to realize why. “No,” Dean said.

 

“Apparently not," the man answered, turning back towards the kid. "I suggest you get out of here. And get some ice on that ankle,” he ordered.

 

The kid nodded energetically and grabbed his board, then quickly disappeared into the crowd.

 

The man returned to Dean’s side and offered him a hand up. Once standing, Dean realized they were nearly the same height. He wanted to say something, but when he met the man’s concerned gaze, he lost the capacity to speak.

 

 _Those eyes. Fuck._ Dean swallowed nervously.

 

Dean realized he was still holding onto the man’s hand right before the guy smirked and let go. Dean watched as he retrieved his book from where he’d obviously flung it aside.

 

The air filled with the screeching and hissing of the approaching train. The man walked back to Dean and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he said.

 

The doors slid open, and the platform was flooded with people hurrying to and from their destination. Dean nodded, smiling. Warmth flooded his body when the man’s lips curved into a smile too.

 

“Coming through,” shouted a short, curly-haired man in an ugly multi-colored sweater as he darted between them. Dean cursed under his breath at the stream of people who followed in the rude man's footsteps. By the time he worked back to where he'd been standing, the hot guy was boarding the closest car.

 

It was then that Dean realized the man was leaving – and that Dean hadn’t even thanked him.

 

“Hey, wait,” Dean called out, but it was too late; the man was aboard. Dean wove through the throng, slipping into the car right before the doors shut. It was standing room only, and it took him several minutes to search his way through the car.

 

He finally spotted the man standing as far from the doors as he could get. One hand held onto a support bar; the other held his book. Once again, he was reading and oblivious to the world. Dean’s lips twitched. He thought about walking up behind the guy, wrapping his arms around his waist, nosing the hair at the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to the top of his spine….

 

Oops. Something else twitched at that thought. Dean steeled himself and willed his libido to _calm the fuck down_. He didn’t know this guy, after all. Sure, he saved him, but for all Dean knew, this guy might think he’s god or something.

 

Despite Dean’s protestations, his feet carried him forward. His hand grabbed the support bar, and somehow – _somehow_ – he managed to croak out, “Thanks.”

 

The guy startled, but when he saw who was speaking to him, a slow and easy smile spread across his face.

 

“I mean it,” Dean said. “Should’ve said it back there. But – thanks.”

 

“You’re welcome,” the man said. The way he looked at Dean… Dean felt like the guy could see right through him.

 

“I’m Castiel,” the man said.

 

“I’m Dean.”

 

“Well, Dean,” Castiel replied, reaching out to straighten Dean’s twisted jacket collar and smiling more broadly when Dean’s cheeks pinked. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

Dean licked his front teeth and ran his tongue along his bottom lip. “Pretty sure the pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, grinning cheekily.

 

Castiel’s eyes danced, but before he could reply, an influx of people slammed Dean into Cas, and Cas against the wall.

 

“Jesus,” Dean muttered, looking over his shoulder. All he could see was people. Some dude’s backpack was digging into his own back, and a sasquatch of a man had them blocked into the corner.

 

“You okay, Cas?,” Dean asked, meeting blue eyes that were alight with amusement.

 

Castiel straightened, the length of his lithe body rubbing along Dean’s as he did. Dean inhaled sharply. Castiel’s jaw tensed. “I’m fine,” he answered.

 

Dean’s gaze traveled down Castiel’s neck; his pulse was jumping under the skin. Dean glanced around; they were up against a maintenance closet, so shielded from the sitting passengers; the backpack currently crushing him was ginormous, and the dude to their right had his very expansive back to them. He met Cas’s eyes, noticed how his new friend swallowed hard, and decided to take a chance.

 

“You sure about that?,” he asked softly. Without waiting for an answer, Dean closed the distance between them, nosing along Cas’s ear and jaw before flicking the tip of his tongue over the fluttering skin. Cas’s groaned, tilting his hips up to meet Dean’s. Dean’s dick went from twitching to rock hard in the space of about two seconds, and his wasn’t the only one.

 

The reality of what they were doing hit Dean then, and he pressed his cheek to Castiel’s, whispering, “What are we doing?”

 

He felt Cas’s cheeks lift in a smile before the man replied smugly, “Aren’t you thanking me for saving you?”

 

Dean smiled too. Okay, then. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he muttered huskily.

 

Castiel began tracing the curve of Dean’s ear with a clever tongue. Dean shuddered and Cas slipped his hands under Dean’s long leather jacket and Henley before wrapping strong arms around his waist, splaying long fingers across Dean’s back.

 

Dean held tightly to Castiel's hips, meeting the other man's seeking mouth and losing himself in the unexpected taste of honey and cinnamon. The train lurched along a curve, and the motion pressed them closer. His hardness pressed against Castiel’s nearly undid him then and there.

 

Dean _wanted_. He wanted to strip Castiel naked, spread him out on a bed, and take him apart until he was trembling. He wanted to thrust against Castiel, feel the slip, slide, warmth of their friction-seeking cocks. He wanted to open himself up while Castiel watched and sink down on him slowly, watching those bottomless blue eyes widen until Castiel’s cock was fully sheathed. Dean _wanted_ …

 

But what did Castiel want? Dean forced himself to draw back, to ask. “Cas –, ” he choked out. “Is this… okay?”

 

Castiel rubbed small circles on Dean’s flesh and kissed the bolt of his jaw. “Yes, Dean,” he murmured, and he began moving his hips – subtly but intentionally.

 

Not for the first time today, Dean was grateful that he’d thrown on the long jacket he’d inherited from his father – though he certainly didn’t want to think about dad right now. He made sure the jacket hung open and loose, covering both him and Cas from the side before taking Castiel in his arms again.

 

Dean sighed with contentment as the burning warmth began building again; he nosed along the crook of Cas’s neck, inhaling the musky scent that already seemed so familiar, and pressed back to the movement of Castiel’s hips. It took all of his self-control not to return the thrusts wildly, but even he knew his jacket wouldn’t hide _that_.

 

Castiel was mid-movement when the subway jerked away from its most recent stop and drove Dean against him. The hard impact caused the warmth Dean had been nursing to erupt, his vision fading at the edges when he heard Cas moaning through his own release.

 

Dean sagged against Castiel, his knees weak. Cas had his forehead on Dean’s shoulder and both were breathing heavily.

 

“Wow,” Dean said with a laugh.

 

Castiel chuckled. “Wow, indeed.” A hand left Dean’s back and palmed his wet crotch. “Good thing your coat’s long.”

 

Dean frowned. “But yours isn’t.”  

 

Cas shrugged. “I’ll pull out my shirt-tails.” Dean carefully pulled Cas’s shirt from his jeans, glad to see that the tails were, in fact, dry. “That’s barely gonna cover you,” he pointed out.

 

“It’ll do till I get to a restroom and can use an air dryer,” Cas said, completely nonplussed. “I’m on my way to the Cloisters. People will be too enraptured by the art to pay attention to my crotch.”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean replied. “I think your crotch qualifies as art.”

 

Cas laughed and captured Dean’s mouth for a lingering kiss. “Don’t worry about me, Dean. I'll remember this subway ride forever....I'm just glad you found me."

 

“Yeah, me too." Dean snorted in amusement. "You totally popped my subway cherry, dude.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And I think I may have discovered a new kink.”

 

Castiel grinned. “Then we should trade phone numbers, see if we can re-create the experience.”

 

“Absolutely,” Dean agreed. “Pretty sure I’m the one who was lost, though,” he murmured as he dipped his head for another kiss.

 

The subway slowed, and Castiel broke away reluctantly to check the destination. “My stop is after this one. Give me your phone.”

 

Dean reached into his back pocket – only to find it empty. He jerked away from Cas and patted himself down while surveying the floor around them. His phone _and_ his wallet were gone. “Dammit,” he muttered.

 

Castiel stood up straight, alarmed. “Did someone rob you?” He cast his gaze around the car, but Dean knew he’d see what Dean had: a crowd of bored people pressed in like sardines and not caring what was going on. It’s how they’d gotten away with what they’d just done, after all.

 

It was then that Dean realized the sasquatch wall was gone. He caught sight of the man edging towards the opening doors. The giant looked back, held up Dean’s wallet and Cas's book, grinned, and ran.

 

“Hey!,” Dean shouted, taking off in pursuit. He was on the subway platform and fighting his way through the boarding passengers before he even realized what he’d done.

 

The doors slammed shut and the subway took off again. Dean glimpsed Castiel through the window, and the man’s confused expression was like a knife to the heart.

 

\+ + +

 **Tuesday, March 24th** _  
_

Dean stared intently at the coffee dregs in his cup.

 

“Dammit, Dean. Are you still moping about the subway guy?” Sam demanded.

 

“No,” Dean muttered.

 

Sam shook his head at his brother and pointed at him accusingly. “You _are_.”

 

Dean shrugged but wouldn’t meet Sam’s eyes. Sam sighed loudly in exasperation. “Why don’t you try to find him?”

 

“Where would I look?” Dean asked. “No, seriously,” he said, cutting off his brother’s retort. “I'd just gotten to town, didn't even know where the Cloisters were..." Dean drained the last bitter sip of his coffee. "All I know is he likes to read and looks smoking hot in leather and –“

 

“I swear to God, Dean, if you tell me one more time about how he made you jizz in your pants, I’ll scream.”

 

Dean smirked. “Sounds like you told yourself.” He pushed his cup away and stood up. “I’m going to go run a mile or ten. Be back later.”

 

“Don’t get mugged this time?”

 

“Bite me.” Dean punctuated his taunt by flipping Sam off as he left the room.

 

Sam listened to the front door slam shut. “You need _Castiel_ to bite you,” he muttered. He mentally ran through the various ways to try and find this guy – a book, a leather jacket, and the Cloisters weren't exactly a lot to go on.

 

Sam aimlessly grabbed the day’s newspaper and flipped through. He was reading a feature about the Naked Cowboy when he suddenly had a brilliant idea.

 

\+ + +

**Wednesday, March 25th**

Gabriel threw the dishcloth down on the counter and glared at his younger brother. “Cassie, I swear to God if you don’t stop moping, I’m going to kick your ass.”

 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Gabriel. I’m not moping.”

 

“Oh yeah? What do you call it then? Pining? Angsting?”

 

Castiel didn’t answer, taking a big bite of a fresh-baked croissookie instead.

 

“How is it?”

 

“Huh?,” Castiel asked. Gabriel looked pointedly at the pastry. “Oh, it’s good. Really good.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Gabriel crossed his arms and watched his brother take only one more bite before setting the pastry aside and staring morosely out the window.

 

“This moping shit’s bad for business,” Gabriel muttered, looking around the shop. It sparkled with lively conversation – except for Castiel, who was enveloped in a shroud of sadness over some green-eyed hottie he'd met on the _subway_.

 

Gabriel bussed the empty tables, carrying the dishes to the sink and wiping them down. He was hauling the dis-assembled newspapers to the recycling bin in the back when he saw it.

 

He laughed out loud. _Oh, this is going to be sweet,_ he thought.

 

\+ + +

**Saturday, March 28th**

“Where are we going, Sammy?,” Dean whined. He'd just wanted to wallow in his own misery this morning, but Sam had dragged him out of the apartment, insisting they had somewhere to be.

 

“Uh – a new place. For a late breakfast. You’ll like it,” Sam promised, checking his watch and increasing his pace. “Just come on. We’re gonna be late.”

 

Dean eyed his brother warily. “It better have bacon,” he muttered, smirking when Sam rolled his eyes.

 

About ten minutes later, Sam stopped walking. “Here we are,” he announced, reaching for the door.

 

Dean stepped back and surveyed the joint. “This place doesn’t have bacon, Sam. I bet it doesn’t even have real donuts.”

 

Sam let out a strangled sound of aggravation, yanked the door open with one hand and grabbed Dean’s arm with the other, and hauled his brother into the shop.

 

“About damn time,” said a voice from behind the counter.

 

Sam’s brow furrowed at the angry short man who was glaring at them. “Cas?”

 

Dean snorted.  _As if_.  “That guy,” he said smugly, “is not Cas.” Dean twisted out of his brother’s grasp. “Wait a minute. Why did you think that was--?”

 

The sight of Cas walking through the crowded café carrying a tub full of bussed dishes killed Dean’s train of thought.

 

“Cas?,” he croaked out.

 

The tub hit the floor with a loud crash that made everyone look up.   (No one paid attention to Gabriel’s plaintive cry over the dishes.)

 

“Dean?”

 

Later, Dean wouldn’t be able to recall who had moved first. All he knew was that he had his arms around Cas, his lips on Cas’s, his tongue moving against Cas’s, his – well, you get the picture. The customers in the café certainly did – _many_ pictures, in fact, and they all went viral in under an hour. So did Sam who would use his favorite for their 2015 Christmas card. And so did Gabriel, who would post several on the café’s website and sell others as souvenir postcards.

 

It was a happy day for Dean and Cas and an even ...um... _happier_ night.

 

A year later, when the two took their vows, it would turn out that getting married on a subway platform was unusual enough to warrant _a lot_ of nosy questions about the location's "secret meaning."

 

Not for the first time, Sam and Gabriel would share a celebratory fist-bump and self-declare themselves the “best brothers _ever_.” This time, Dean and Castiel would whole-heartedly agree.... After which enthusiastic endorsement, the newlyweds' best men would _finally_ agree to _not_ spill the smutty details about that fateful afternoon.

 

(Instead, they would have posters made from the now-infamous café reunion and plaster them _everywhere_.)

 

\+ + + +

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I had a lot of fun writing this and hope it meets the DSB's standards! It's been a while since I've dealt with the NYC subway system, so apologies for any errors.
> 
> Many thanks to CollectivaDiva for inviting me to participate <3


End file.
